The End
by Eleret
Summary: So maybe Harry didn’t burn that one last letter that Draco wrote, and maybe he replied. I was debating upon whether or not to write this one, but then it suddenly jumped into my head and refused to get out until written. So here it is. The sequel to Cr


**Title: The End **

**Author:** Eleret 

**Author E-mail: **Eleret@aol.com 

**Category:** Angst/Romance

**Keywords:** Harry, Draco, love 

**Rating:** PG-13 (for death and such)  

**Spoilers:** PS/SS, CoS, PoA, GoF

**Summary:** So maybe Harry didn't burn that one last letter that Draco wrote, and maybe he replied. I was debating upon whether or not to write this one, but then it suddenly jumped into my head and refused to get out until written. So here it is. The sequel to Crêpes. 

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author's Note:** Well, I was kind of torn between writing this and not writing it. At first, I really didn't because I liked Crêpes all by itself, but then this came into my brain. I'm not entirely sure if I like this or not, so give me an honest opinion. If you don't like it, give me a good reason and DON'T BE AFRAID TO TELL ME. For this one, I really want to know your honest opinions. Also, huge thanks to Hollie, who told me how to use accents in Microsoft Word! Thanks a bunch! 

Dear Draco, 

You wrote me a letter this morning, and I opened it. I haven't read one of your letters in years. I had forgotten how well you could put your thoughts down on paper, so much more eloquently than I. You would be a very good writer, if you wanted to be one, I expect. 

I opened the letter, and I was brought backwards in time. That Christmas morning, years ago, seventh year; in the middle of a war, we found a place to rest. It was the best day of my life. It doesn't surprise me that you still eat crêpes, because I know that you love to relive things. 

Me, I'm better at forgetting than remembering. I shut that memory up inside, and I never let it out. Your letter pulled it back out, and that was painful, but also necessary. I don't want to remember things like that morning, because if I do, I'll have to remember how they ended, too. And I hate that. I like to make myself believe that the end never came, that we were never together; that there was never any beginning to end. 

So I don't know what made me open this particular letter. I usually do burn them at first sight- it amazes me how much you still know about me. I'm glad I opened it though, Draco, because it had to be done. I needed to go back in time. I needed to see that you're still here, that it did happen, and that it was all real. Because it _was_ real, and I need to see that. I need to understand that you can't run away from the past, even in the wizarding world. 

I remember that day as vividly as you, but I don't want to describe it again. It would be too much. And I can't seem to keep my mind from wandering towards the end. I know you must remember it too, and I don't want to have to drag you back towards it, but I have to get it over with. 

That's another difference between us. While you remember the love and the happiness and ache over not having that anymore, you don't constantly think about the end. I, on the other hand, remember the love distantly, and remember the pain as though it were yesterday. I think about the end. I dream about the end, and I wake up screaming your name, and Ginny turns over in bed and pretends she doesn't hear it. 

It was after that huge battle with Voldemort, the one where Voldemort was finally killed. It must have been about June then, I guess, a few weeks after we graduated. We were walking through the Forbidden Forest, but even it seemed cheerful on such a peaceful day. We didn't expect to find your dad there. He was one of the few Death Eaters that got away. 

I hated your father then; I always have. And you did, too. He had disowned you when you left to be with me. He had never understood you, and he didn't love you. But he was still your father, and I should have realized that earlier. But I was kind of crazy at that time, and I wasn't thinking. 

Your father was crazy too. He looked strained and his clothes were mussed and ripped in a way I had never seen them before. He was glaring wildly at us. I know now we should just have stupefied him and taken him back to Hogwarts. But he took us by surprise. He took _me by surprise. _

He was waving his wand. He yelled at you, about sullying the family name and crawling around with the muddy lowlife. You were pale and staring, and you didn't know what to do. Your hands were shaking. I was mad at him, and I was kind of on the brink of an emotional break-down anyway. I didn't mean to pick up my wand and shout those two words, I really didn't. But it happened, and all I can say is that I've regretted it every day since. 

_"Avada Kedavra!"_  I shouted, and that was that. He was dead. I couldn't remember my own parents, so I didn't understand the look on your face. I realize now what a thing it must have been to see your lover kill your father. I looked at you uncertainly. 

You stared at him and then at me. You whispered, "You killed him." I shrugged and said that yes, I had. You blinked hastily, but it did nothing to stem the flow of tears. I think they were tears of despair more than anything. I think you knew, on some level, even then, that that was the end of us. 

I didn't understand why you were crying. I asked why and you replied, "He was my father, Harry. _My father_. You _killed_ my _father." I don't think you quite believed it. _

I shrugged and said the third word that ruined my life (the first two being the incantation for the killing curse); "So?" 

You exploded. "So he was my father, Harry! He was a freak, yeah, and he was crazy. He disowned me, and he said horrible things. But he was still my _father_, and you just killed him! I know you can't begin to understand- you never had parents…" I know you said more, but I stopped listening after that phrase. 

"You never had parents." 

I stared at you. "Are you saying you're mad at me because I killed your crazy, psychotic of a father?" I asked, somewhat incredulously. I didn't know at the time how unfair I was being. Thinking back onto this, I have to cringe. 

You sputtered at this. Finally, you took a deep breath. I could see hurt and pain in your eyes. "You really don't understand, do you?" You asked with your voice full of sorrow and pity. 

I scowled. "Understand _what_? Understand that you loved your father even though he would have killed you? Understand that you would rather have your father alive than to be safe with _me?" _

Your eyes widened. "No, Harry, that's not-"

But I wasn't listening. I should have listened. I could have saved us so much pain. I should have stopped and thought about it. I shouldn't have been so horrible, but as I've said, I was exhausted, and a bit crazy. "Well," I said, "If that's the way you feel, if you really hate me for protecting you, then I guess it's not going to work, is it?" And I walked away. By the time I realized what I'd done, I was in the middle of asking Ginny to marry me, and I couldn't back out. 

Blankness set in after that. I kissed Ginny with my eyes closed. I told Ginny I loved her, but I know that she new better. Ginny understood that you and I would always love each other, no matter how much she loved me. She accepted this, and contented herself with pretending that I loved her, and ignoring the things she didn't want to see. Right now, Ginny is making breakfast (bacon and eggs- I haven't had crêpes since that Christmas morning so long ago) and humming, and laughing with our kids. She'll smile and shove away the pain. In that respect, I envy her. She's so much better at locking up the pain. 

I don't know why I couldn't go back to you then, before Ginny and I were married. I think it had something to do with pride. I don't have any pride any more; I have nothing to be proud of. I only know that I didn't get the chance to talk to you. And then, before I knew it, I was married to Ginny, and our first baby was coming along. 

The first time I looked into our daughter Cassandra's eyes, I was filled with a strange mixture of resent, resignation, and love. Resent because now I was a father, and I wasn't going to be able to ever come back to you. Resignation, because I had known this would happen, and now it had. And love, because she was so perfect, and she was my daughter, and I wouldn't let her down. It wasn't her fault. 

By the time Kenny was born, I knew it was too late to ever get back together with you again. It had been a silly, stupid fight, but I couldn't make things right anymore. I had two kids, I had a family, and I had to try to make things happy for them, because it was too late to fix up my own screwed up existence. I had already ruined too many lives. 

So now all I can say is that I'm sorry. I don't know how you can still love me. I killed your father, and then I left you all alone. I wouldn't listen to you. I didn't understand. And the only excuse I have is that I was stupid and horrible. I loved you, but I didn't know how to take care of you. I still love you, but I've given up on us ever getting back together. I'm glad you have too. 

And so, here is my proposal. Next Monday, when we go back to work, and see each other in the hallway, try not to look at me with that painful longing. Instead, try to smile. I'll be trying, too. It won't be easy. Building a friendship on top of the broken remains of love never is. And it might be impossible. But we need to try. So we'll start trying to smile, and if that works, then maybe, next time we see each other in the Auror station cafeteria, you'll walk over to my table and sit down and say, "Hey Harry. How's it been?" 

Because we can't take back what's been said. We can't give up on our new lives, and I can't abandon my new family. And, considering the situation we're in, that's the end that I want. 

Love,

Harry Potter. 

***

End of Story. 

**A/N2:** And this really is the end, almost certainly. I really don't intend to write any sequel to this, because I like this ending. 


End file.
